A Few Minutes Late
by labrinthine
Summary: Who knew that just a few moments can change everything? Manolo didn't get back in time to stop Chakal. Warnings: blood, violence, language. Eventual tres leches or Joaquin/Maria/Manolo. Tentatively rated T
1. Late

Manolo's song to the bull took just a few minutes to long- who knew, only two minutes could drastically change life as we know it. He still burst through the very ground with mighty flourish, ready to battle Chakal, but the battle was already over. San Angel residents crowded around and greeted him warmly, happy he was back, but a storm cloud hung over the town. It was like Chakal had come, taken all the goodness out of the town, and left. Later Manolo would understand how literal that metaphor was. After slipping by the mass of people, he searched out his two best friends: Maria and Joaquin. He was sure someone had gone totell them of his revival, but neither of them had appeared to greet him which was... odd, but not impossible. Perhaps they had wanted to see him alone? It would be nice, alone with them. It seemed ever since Maria had returned, the tension between them was high.

By the time he finds her, the sky has grown heavy and gray with rain clouds. She's standing beneath the tree he sang to her at. Her sword is loosely clutched in her hand, her body tensed, and she's staring intensely out, across the open expanse of desert. Hoof prints and blood decorate the ground, and it's obvious Chakal had gotten away, but why had he not destroyed the city? Why did it seem like everything was fine if Chakal was alive?

He open his mouth to call for her, but a sharp crack screeches out from the sky and all at once the rain pour down. He's soaked instantly and a shiver tears through him, but Maria is stone still. The only change is that she is possibly tenser, and he grip around her sword has tightened considerably. He open his mouth once more to jokingly ask if she's planning on getting pneumonia out in the rain, but it snaps shut when Maria suddenly lets out and cry of anger and throws her sword haphazardly in front of her. Halfway through her yell transforms into a wail of anguish and she takes a few stumbling steps away from him.

Her hair is slicked down to her face and rain drops drip off her chin.

He opens his mouth only once more, determined this time to put an end to this sickening silence. "Maria!" He calls short, sweet, and to the point.

Her body still once more as she recognizes his voice- as she puts two and two together. She spins around like a top and locks eyes with him. He watches as her face scrunched up, and her eyes, already red a puffy from previously shed tears, begin to water one more. She runs to him then, just a short twenty feet and she launches herself into his arms. She is cold beneath his touch, her skin cooled from the rain, and she buries her face in his shirt. Wet sobs rack through her. He steers them backwards until the are safely shielded from the rain beneath their tree, then he helps her sit with him and listens to her hitched breathing mixing with the patter of the rain.

After what seemed like years... "Am I dead?" she manages to breath into his chest, still holding him like he would disappear in an instant.

His arms had reflexively wrapped around her. "No, of course not..." He soothes gently, "I'm just... back."

She pulls back suddenly and wipes at her eyes fiercely. "Where have you been?" She demands, the old anger for his death surging through her veins- anything to distract her from the crippling grief consuming her from the inside out.

So he makes himself comfortable and begins to spin his tale of loss and gain. He tells her all about his mother and his oddball ancestors. She lets herself be sucked into the beauty of his story, the fantastic way he tells it, and the peace she feels having him back... He tells her of the maze with the stone boulders seeking to crush him and the quest to find La Muerte. he tells her about how the sword broke when it came in contact with his soul, and how the candle maker lit candles for every soul, and he told her of La Muerte reaction when he revealed Xibalba had been cheating... She had let out a short, stuttering, fake laugh around that part of the story, but if he noticed her didn't mention it.

Then he sobered up and told her about his one condition for coming back to life. He had to battle all the bulls the Sanchez men had killed. He spoke of how they fused into one, fire edged, vengeful Toro... He told her of how instead of killing the animal, he had embraced who he really was and sang to it, asking for forgiveness, and when he was forgiven he was free of death's grip.

"...So I went around town searching for you and Joaquin-" She only flinches slightly at his name, "-to reunite with you both. Where is _mi hermano_ anyway?" He asks, glancing around the tree like Joaquin would suddenly appear.

She pulls away from his arms and rubs absent mindedly at a bruise on her arm. The nervous rubbing would soon develop into a small self-comfort habit, but for now it was harmless. "You told me about what happened down there... now I need to tell you what happened up here." Her voice is firm.

She turns to look out toward the horizon. The rain had come to a slow drizzle during his tale, and the storm finally seems to break, revealing the orange-red sky beneath it. The sun had just begun to set.

"Chakal attacked the city." She starts bluntly, "He came looking for the medal of everlasting life. You know, the one Joaquin had?"

She's doing her very best not to look at him, "Chakal managed to get the Medal and the upper hand on us all...

_Joaquin is pinned beneath several Bandidos. Pain is splitting up his bruises and lacerations, but he does not let his weakness show. The entire town is rallied around, ready to make a last stand. They're looking for a miracle, but miracles don't exist. Joaquin knows they don't. The medal of everlasting life was no miracle, it was a curse. The town was going to be destroyed, and Chakal couldn't even get hurt. He had to do something!_

_"Please, Chakal, just don't hurt them!" He begs. Chakal glares down at him, unamused, and ready to execute him, "I'll give you anything!" Joaquin barters._

_Chakal doesn't smile, but his sunken eyes slide over to rest on Maria's form, "I want her." He replies with a nasty look on his face. He knew Joaquin would never give her to him._

_"No!" Joaquin may be the town hero, but that doesn't mean he's stupid. Chakal has the medal, and if he wants something, he can get it... and if they fight him, and he wants Maria, than whose to say he wont just take her? She will fight, of course, but with the medal will give him the upper hand. He needs another bartering chip... anything, to get his eyes off of Maria._

_"Anything but her," he fixes his offer, desperate to do something. If the town fights, they will surely be slaughtered! "What about..." His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he scrambles to offer something Chakal may want- Money? no he has enough of that! Weapons? San Angel has very few._

_"Me." It slips out of his mouth as a whisper._

_Chakal's eyes narrow, "What did you say?"_

_Joaquin's breathing grows heavier as the bandidos lean on him, "What about me?" he repeats, louder this time, "I'll come with you willingly as long as you promise to never harm or return to San Angel ever again!"_

_"Joaquin! No!" Maria shouts, taking a step towards him. He doesn't look at her._

_The man seems to genuinely be considering his offer. "What makes you so sure I won't come back once you are gone?" He asks, motioning for his lackeys to let up on the pressure they were crushing him under._

_The hero's eyes stare directly into Chakal's, "I am not an idiot." Joaquin says simply, "I have heard about you all across the nation, and one thing has been the same in every story. You always honor your word." He says surely._

_The tension in the air was so thick you could barely breathe. No one mover a muscle, and not even the animals called. It was as if even they knew the next words out of Chakal's mouth were important. The hulking man took several steps closer to Joaquin. His minions scattered, not wanting to get in the way of his sword. They were sure he was going to execute the man. With one fluid movement Chakal's hands was around Joaquin's throat and he had hoisted him into the air, cutting off his air supply. Joaquin's hands scrabbled at his metal ones, desperate to release the pressure._

_His gruesome lips curled into the closest thing to a grin as he could manage, "I accept." He announced darkly, and drops Joaquin to the ground._

_He mockingly raises his right hand, "I, Chakal, promise not to harm or return to San Angel as long as el Heroe promises to willingly come with me."_

_The promise is made. Joaquin feels numb as he hears Maria shout out obscenities and try to wrestle her way through the bandidos to reach him. Chakal turns on heel and begins to leave, and it feels almost like slow motion. Everything was happening so quickly. Suddenly a bandido thumps the back of his head with the butt of his sword and Joaquin saw stars. Said Bandido hauled him to his feet and shoved Joaquin's horse, Plata's, reins into his hand._

_"Word of advice:" He outlaw creaked, "Don't fall behind."_

_Joaquin nodded numbly. He could feel the warmth of his blood trickling down the back of his head from his wound, and the dull throb working it's way into his brain was less than pleasant. Plata looks concerned, but the horse allows him to mount without a fight. He turns back to look at Maria..._

_"Maria." He says softly. A bandido is holding her back and away from him, but he was careful not to hurt her. She almost seems to hear him as her eyes suddenly raise and she locks eyes with him._

_"Joaquin!" She calls, "Don't do this! Please, you can't leave me too!" She screams._

_His heart pangs, but he can't back down now. "We almost got married, Maria." He doesn't know why he needed to say that, but he did. "As an almost wedding gift, I ask that you stay here."_

_Her eyed widen. "Do not come after me." He says firmly, leaving no room for argument._

_He and Plata spin around and take off after the army. The bandidos keeping the crowd at bay hop on their own horses and join him. Maria attempts to run after them, but realizes it futile when she reaches the tree- the same tree she was under now._

Her hands are trembling and her eyes are wet once more. Manolo is speechless, unable to process what Maria had been telling him. Joaquin was... gone? How was that possible? What would happen to him, would he be killed? or sold into slavery, or something even worse?

"What's our plane?" he asks finally and Maria shakes her head.

"There is no plan, Manny." She whispers softly, "No one knows where Chakal's hideout is and Joaquin asked me not come after him." She mutters.

He stares unseeing at the town. "Then we wait." he decides.

"What?" She glances at him. His eyes are dry, but just barely. His shoulders are hunched and his face is dark.

"We wait for him." He says evenly, "He'll come back to us."

She touches his hand softly, "Manolo..."

"He will come back." He repeats, teeth gritting.

Joaquin would return. He had too.

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**This story is basically written to quench my hunger for the book of life angst. Lots of hurt!Joaquin and blood and injuries. Death too. This will follow mostly Joaquins story living under Chakals iron fist and all the bad things done to him. idk yet tho, it may go a different directionnnnn... :/**

**I don't own the book of life, Jorge gutierrez does!**

**Enjoy!**


	2. Metal Bars

**Please read:**

**This chapter has a few warnings in it different from the summary. Yes, there is language, violence, and blood, but there is also non-graphic sexual assault, off-screen torture, dub/non-con, and murder. Just a warning. Be safe.**

**Enjoy.**

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Joaquin's eyes slide open slowly. It's late, he's been unconscious for a couple of hours, but at least someone had the decency to drag him back to his designated room. He's been under Chakal's rule for three years now, but he still got in trouble an unusual amount. Punishment wasn't too harsh now a days, just a beating. He was never taken to the cages anymore, but the shackles in the common area had his blood all over them. That was usually their favorite form of torture. They hung you up by your arms and whipped you into submission, or in his case, beat you unconscious. Chakal often liked to come out of his room to watch when he was beaten, but stayed back for everyone else. It was probably because Chakal had actually started to _like_ Joaquin.

Chakal had always been there in the beginning. In the cages with Joaquin, holding the red-hot iron or the whip, frowning and lecturing as he burned and cut and molded Joaquin into something new. "You're mine now." He would hiss as he branded his name into Joaquin's hip, "You're mine and you'll never forget it." Joaquin hated his guts.

The evil man's presence slowly dwindled in his new life until Joaquin could almost pretend he was dead- of course that would be easier if Joaquin wasn't forced to share not only a room, but also a bed with the bastard. He sits up heavily and notes the shackle around his foot. he hasn't had that thing for the longest time, why put it back now? Was his little act of rebellion enough to revoke all the progress he had made? All he had done was take extra bread to the servants. he had done much worse than that before, so why was now the last straw?

Was it possible Chakal figured out his escape plan? The man would be less than happy to find out Joaquin was filing down an old metal bed frame bar into a suitable knife, and he would be more than furious to figure out Joaquin was planning on killing him. As twisted and unsettling as it was, Chakal had begun to depend on Joaquin, and even trust him. That was the exact reason Joaquin was able to free half of the servants and not be killed. It was why he was permitted to walk the grounds freely and why Plata had not yet been killed or given to a bandido. Chakal, as far-fetched as it sounds, was in love with Joaquin and wanted him happy. He had confessed to Joaquin some of his dark secrets when he thought he was asleep, but he treated Joaquin like dirt other than his small freedoms. Some of the worst punishments were under Chakals hands.

The door bangs open and Joaquin reflexively flinches. His gauze wrapped hands shoot up to protect his face, but relax when they realized Chakal is not coming into the room angry. Those were the worst nights.

He opens his mouth to ask about the shackle but closes it before the words can get out. How could he forget? Rule #3: never speak unless spoken too. He must wait for Chakal to acknowledge him.

That was one of the first rules he learned. Rule #1: Don't fall behind. Rule #2: Suffer in silence. Rule #3: Never speak unless spoken to. There were a hundred thousand more where that came from, and each had been pounded into his brain constantly. Hiding his pain became a reflex now.

Chakal approaches him and he resists the urge to scoot away from him. He kneeled down and unlocks the shackle easily, but gives no sign about why it was on in the first place. The makeshift knife he made is finished and hidden away under his pillow. Not the best hiding place, but it works. Now all he needs is a clear shot of his neck without him wearing the medal of everlasting life... there was only one way he could do that. He follows Chakal as the older man goes back to the bed. He turns around when they're pretty close, hoists Joaquin up, and throws him forcefully onto the bed. He lands awkwardly on the bed and bed frame. His head smacks had on the metal and his vision goes spotty for a moment.

In those few moment Chakal has already managed to strip off Joaquin's ratty old servant clothes, as well as his own slightly cleaner but bloodstained clothes. His damned shirt is still on though. Joaquin leaned up and Kissed him quickly before beginning to slide his hands up Chakal's stomach. He had done this enough times to know cooperation was the best option. He grinded against him, hips jutting up and hands roaming. He just needed to get that damned shirt off-!

Chakal sits back suddenly and pulls the tattered shirt off over his head, tossing it and the Medal onto the floor, before leaning back down to continue on their eager touching.

Joaquin has other ideas.

trying to act casual, he slips his hand beneath his pillow, searching for the spike while simultaneously trying to keep Chakal occupied. His hands grasp something cold and he knows he had to act fast- if Chakal had any time to reach his shirt then Joaquin was dead for sure. He pulls Chakal down for another kiss before making his move. He swings his makeshift weapon with all the energy he didn't have. It punctures easily and he lifts it again and stabs down again... and again, and again... Chakal rears back in pain before throwing his razor-sharp metal hands around. He managed to catch Joaquin's face and stomach, but soon his frantic fighting slows to a stop. His body grows heavy with dead weight, and blood pools on the bed.

Joaquin pushes him to the other side of the bed and sits up. He lets the knife slip out of his hands and onto the bed softly. He curls up into a ball and stares at the man across from him with bated breath. Logically he knew Chakal was dead. The medals soft green glow could be seen across the room, and too much blood was decorating the bed for his heart to still keep beating... but Joaquin was still scared that by some big cosmic joke Chakal was alive. So he sat there, curled into a ball, staring until the throbbing from his wounds grew too painful to ignore.

His stomach wound wasn't bad. It hurt like a bitch, and was in a spot that would take long to heal, but it wasn't bad. The worst was his face. More specifically, his eye. Chakal had torn right through the delicate skin and muscle, and no matter how hard he tried, the mess was bloody and unsalvageable. He couldn't exactly walk to the medic at the moment, so he would have to remove it himself. One clean-cut later and he was done. He fetches the simple first aid kit from Chakal's bedside table and begins to wrap himself up. Chakal had specifically brought that in for him. He knew sometimes Joaquin had small cuts that were exposed to infection, and he wanted to decrease the chances of Joaquin dying. Ironic, huh?

Fully wrapped and healthy as possible, he began to search around for new clothes. His others had unfortunately been caught in a spray of blood. He spots Chakal's clothes first, Rumpled on the floor or wadded into a ball, He reaches down and wraps his fingers around the shirt first before suddenly throwing it back down once he caught sight of the medal. That thing had fucked up his mind... after he had first been brought down here, he had begun to go through the symptoms of withdrawals. Shaking, hallucinations, paranoia, the irrevocable, undeniable_ rage_ he had felt... it was one of the worst experiences of his life. Not to mentions what it did to him while he was wearing it! The sudden dark thought, the need to be the best, the arrogance, etcetera, etcetera. Joaquin never wanted to touch that thing ever again, but he couldn't just leave it here...

He takes a step away from the clothes and decides he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

He eventually does find some clothes. Chakals old ones. The pants are an off-white color and fit him almost to a t, but the shirt is too big and hangs off his frame awkwardly. It's dark brown and complements his skin tone nicely. There's a spot of what looks like blood on it, but Joaquin decided it's fine. He also manages to dig up a pair of black boots and a small burlap sack perfect for the Medal. He delicately unpins it from the shirt and drops it in easily. it calls to him when he touches it, but he ignores it.

He fetches the keys on Chakal's pants and unlocks the doors that he stores his precious swords in. He may trust Joaquin to a degree, but not enough to leave weapons lying about in the open. He surprised to see the other weapons- guns, throwing knives, bombs... Chakal had never brought anything other than his swords to fights before. Joaquin would have broken into this sooner if he had realized the other weapons it stored. absent-mindedly he begins to take all the weapons and one-by-one strap them to his person until he was almost ten pounds heavier. Another thirty pounds and he'll weigh as much as he did when he first got here.

He steps up to the door leading out and his fingers brush the knob. He had to get out there and kill every Bandido in there. If he took out enough of them, then some of the many other slaves would be free... and if he killed them all, then he could walk out with them. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to fight with his ruined depth perception, but hell he was going to try.

_He was getting out or he was going to die trying._

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**I want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed! Enjoy :3**

**I do not own The Book of Life. Jorge Gutierrez does.**


	3. 1 Concussion

There's blood underneath his fingernails and clotting thick in his hair. His heart pounds dully in his chest and exhaustion tears away at his bones, but he knows he mustn't stop now. So many of the Bandidos had fallen to his- well. technically, Chakal's blade. Others had fled the moment his rage and determination became known, escaping death by mere moments. His finger's grip on the hilt was tight as a vice, and though they trembled and shook, they showed no signs of release. Using the swords as canes of sorts, he carefully picked through the bodies of fallen foes. They had severely underestimated his skills, and no look at where they are.

It was odd. People tend to forget that he had been raised basically from birth to become some big, macho hero. A soldier to protect San Angel. A high class swordsman and marksman, with years and years of battle's under his belt. The medal may have protected him from injury, but it had not gifted him with the delicate art of swordplay... But in all fairness, Neither had General Posada.

Joaquin had actually learned much of his tremendous skill on the open roads. That's not to say the General hadn't helped. He had laid down good ground work, but it was traveling swordsmen and heroes alike that had formed the brick and mortar for his skill. They were often friendly enough, and usually willing to teach his a few techniques and tricks. He had adopted and adapted their lessons into his own technique. He twisted and pulled and molded them into some new and unique to him. It was one of the main reasons he had been able to cut through all of his enemies today. No one had ever seen sword fighting like his, and even fewer had managed to duplicate it.

Not to say it was perfect. They Bandido had gotten several good shots at him, but Joaquin liked to blame that on his warped depth perception, malnourishment, and previous injuries.

Running a bloody hand over his face, he accidentally tugs at the tattered bandages around his head. He ignores the pain as his fingers brush his mustache and scratchy five o'clock shadow which was more of a beard. There had been no real grooming product here. No shampoo or conditioner, no scissors or facial razor... hell, there was barely even soap! his mustache was long and scraggly with matted corners, and his hair was no better. The Caesar cut had long ago grown out and now swept the back of his neck softly. He needed a haircut badly, but now that could wait.

He suddenly found himself on a familiar path, his body falling into muscle memory of walking this hallway for three years. If he wanted to, he could simply walk out to the stables and leave right then and there... but then he would be leaving hundreds of other hostages behind. He couldn't let that happen.

He stumbles a bit and slams into the hard, stone wall before righting himself again. The large central Headquarters for Chakal was carved out of caves and was comprised of mostly open floor plans and pillars. Torches were lit sporadically throughout the lair and tended to cast long, intimidating shadows. The only real private places were the kitchen plus attached slave quarters, the cages, and of course Chakal's private room. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he reached a hing door and swung iy open with a clang.

Two people were in the room. One was a tan skinned, full figured Mexican woman. She had a short, graying bob cut atop her head and an apron on top of her brown peasant clothes. She has her back to him as she briskly mixes bread dough for today's meal. The other is a soldier of Chakal's with a wimpy pencil mustache. Joaquin had been visited by this man many times in the cages. He was particularly fond of the hammer and nails. pencil stache was watching the woman work with hungry eyes, but Joaquin had a feeling he wasn't hungry for bread. Joaquin had seen that look way too many times, and knew what the soldier wanted to do...

"Welcome back," The soldier calls back to Joaquin without looking, "What was with all the noise out there? That Joaquin getting the shit beat out again?"

The bandido obviously thought Joaquin was a fellow soldier- maybe a friend that he had sent to check out the sounds of carnage from the front room. Joaquin moved forward like liquid. silent and smooth, not a movement out of place as he plunges the sword easily into his chest. He barely had time to gasp before his lungs fill up with blood and his heart stops. His body thumps when it hits the ground.

The woman has grown tense after hearing the death behind her. "Are you going to kill me too?" He watches her fingers wrap almost imperceptibly around a butchers knife.

"No," He answers as casually as he can manage, "Just the bandits." He lets the swords drop with a clang.

Immediately she has dropped the knife and spun around to face him. Her vibrant chocolate eyes are blown wide with shock and her mouth is an 'o' shape. She seems to completely ignore his bloody appearance. "Joaquin!" She hisses urgently, dropping her voice to a whisper, "What have you done? Chakal will kill you!"

Joaquin smiles at her then and shakes his head like a madman, "No, he can't!" He reassures her, "Because he's dead! And so are many of the bandidos."

If possible, her eyes widen more. "You killed Chakal?" Her voice is barely audible. Joaquin nods enthusiastically and she launches herself into his arms. Tears begin to mingle with the dried blood on his shirt. She pulls back and smiles wide at him, "Oh mi salvador!" Tears prick at her eyes, "Are we free?"

He smiles, "Ci, Alma. You will be able to be with your family again." He releases her easily back to the floor, "But first I need your help freeing many of the other servants." He explains seriously.

She nods and they quickly take off to spread the good news. Most all servants had received similar treatment and punishment as Joaquin, and were happy to finally be free. Micah and his son, who's whole life had been spent under Chakals rule, cried profusely when told they were free. Geneva had been taken from her home too, and had managed to cling to life by anchoring herself on one of her father's old shirts. She managed to become a pseudo leader for these people, and led them fearlessly to the stables so they could free themselves. Alma had insisted on staying behind and Finding Joaquin clean clothes and proper medical care. They convinced Manuel, one of the better medics, to stay and help. Joaquin felt incredibly guilty to be keeping him behind, and tried to be as quick and efficient as possible.

His injuries, it total, added up to -1 eye, +30 stitches, +18 bad bruises, and -tip of left ear. What wholesome math.

And now here they were. Joaquin on Plata and Alma on Georgio, Chakal's favorite horse. They hadn't been able to gallop away with all of Joaquin injuries but Alma had stayed with him for some unknown reason.

He pulls the reigns suddenly and Plata obediently stops moving. He slips off his side easily and quickly throws up. Add a +1 concussion to that previous list.

Alma runs her hand soothing over his back, having gotten off her horse and to him by the time he had stopped. He straitens suddenly and turns to face her. She's dressed in a pair of loose black pants ideal for running and fighting, as well as an off-the-shoulder white top that reminded him of maria so bad it made his stomach hurt. He was dresses similarly in stretchy cream colored pants complete with a belt and sword. The Medal hung heavily from his hip, once more stashed in a burlap sack. He also wore a loose, faded red shirt, A black scarf was thrown about his neck and a gold plated eye patch, taken from Chakal's treasure, was strung around his head. He licks his lips, "I don't think i'm Joaquin anymore." he hurriedly confesses, as if afraid he won't be able to say it if he waited a moment longer.

"What do you mean?" She brushes her finger across his forehead, reflexively checking for a temperature.

He sighs, "I mean... The medal shaped my entire life. So did being a soldier, my father's shadow, Chakal's brainwashing... I'd like to think I knew myself. I'm a hero who fights the bad and help the good but..." He bites his lip, "Heroes don't slaughter and entire cave full of people." He glances down at his hands, "Heroes don't feel the blood clots beneath their fingernails... Heroes don't feel the sticky blood on their hands." His hands were perfectly clean now, having taken a long needed washing before leaving the lair, but the feeling persisted.

He looks up, straight into her eyes, "How can I return to San Angel knowing what I've done?" Joaquin had killed people before, but he had the medal to use as a scapegoat back then. Now it was just him and his own thoughts... He didn't want to think that he was just a cold blooded killer, but it became more obvious as time passed that he truly was a monster with or without the medal.

"Joaquin." She cups his face gently, "Because of you Micah and His son are free. Geneva doesn't have to strip anymore, and I will finally get to see my children again. You are no monster, and i'm sure you family misses you."

He smiles and refrains from telling her his mother doesn't give a damn and his Father is dead. She was trying to cheer him up, and he appreciated it.

...But it hadn't really changed his mind. "I'm not going to go home immediately." He says finally, pulling away from her hand and remounting his horse, "I've got thing I need to take care of." The burlap sack seems to have grown heavier by his side, "And I've got someone to find." Maybe his journey to rid himself of the medal would help him find himself too. It was a nice thought.

Alma mounts Georgio as well. She reaches out and grips Joaquin's hand, "Where will you go?" She asks.

He stares blankly at her hand for a moment, "West." He answers pensively, "Towards the Pacific ocean. I'll fill the bag with rocks and cast it into the sea."

She nods in understanding, "I'll go north, towards my village, towards my sons..." She squeezes his hand gently, "You can always come to see us." She says warmly.

He nods. This was their goodbye. Three years of having only each other to lean on. Three years of crying and bruises and ranting and blood and torture, and this was it. It felt so utterly anticlimactic- like this was just acquaintances saying goodbye after a sub par party. He nods again, and her smile is strained. With a squeeze of the legs both their horses are spurred on, and Joaquin has no idea if he'll ever see her again. Honestly, he's not ever sure if either of them will make it to their destinations, but they sure were gonna try.

As Plata's hooves clap on the ground, Joaquin takes a moment to reflect. He knows he's going in the wrong direction. San angel is north-east of his current position. That's where he should be going... but facing Maria with all this blood on his hands... facing Maria and knowing he'd left her all alone to deal with Manny's death... Facing Maria and fearing she would suddenly realize he had turned into an unstable, pathetic, monster of a man...

He needed to keep Maria's memory good and happy. He needed to remember her and Manolo happily- like when they were children, fighting over the silliest of things. Joking and hugging and loving... Those were the memories that pulled him through all of this. Those were the memories that gave him a sense of life.

He made a promise to himself then. Maria was going through all the pain in the world without both her best friends, and right after he gets rid of the cursed medal, he'll return to her. No backing out, no changing his mind.

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**Thank you all for your wonderful support! The reviews are wonderful, and I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter! The next chapter should be a Maria/Manolo centered! But hey, who knows. Plans may change...**

**Also fair warning: There are OC's in this story, but No OC is ever a main character. This is strictly Joaquin, Manolo, and Maria centered. Alma was the first of Many OC's, but they will all have rolls that aren't recurring/too important.**

**I don't own the Book of Life! Jorge Gutierrez does!**


	4. Maria and Manolo

"Maria?" Manolo's voice calls up the steps quietly. Hesitantly he pushed her door open.

She was sitting on the floor with her back against her bed and body angled so she could see out across the town. Her eyes were unfocused, as if she were in deep thought, and her arm mechanically petted Chuy. He stood at the door for a long moment, not saying anything. He knew why she was acting this way, and he didn't blame her. It was the three year anniversary of Maria's coma, Manolo's temporary death, and Joaquins sacrafice.

Manolo would like to say it's gotten better, he'd like to say a lot of things. He'd like to take Maria in his arms and tell her that Joaquin was fine, and that they were silly for worrying. Instead he heavily took a seat beside her and sat in silence.

Hours past in silence. Only Chuy's obnoxious snoring cracked the atmosphere.

Slowly Manolo reaches over and places his hand on her's. Her fingers are cold, and her arm stiffens it's movements. Her breath hitches and she reaches up, hands balled into a fist, and scrubs at her eyes angrily. He opens his mouth to ask if she's okay, but the words never make it out. It's a stupid question. He already knows the answer. Instead, he hoists himself to his feet and offers her his hand.

They're in her kitchen now, General Posada is no where to be seen, and Manolo is thankful for that. The General may be Maria's primary caretaker, but had never really been sensitive to her feelings. He had almost forced Maria to marry Joaquin right after she had lost Manolo, he had sent her away from her friends, and he had been extremely rude about what Joaquin had done to save them.

_General Posada smiled at Manolo thinly. "Y'know, you could be our new town hero?"_

_Manolo had stared at him numbly. It had been only four months since that fateful day, and they were burying an empty casket for Joaquin. The chances of Chakal keeping him alive for long was slim, and many people seemed convinced that without the medal, Joaquin had died quickly. Maria and Manolo had given speeches, and the whole town was there. The preacher did a wonderful job commemorating him, and the light drizzle of rain had seemed fitting. Several of the townsfolk had herded Maria away to comfort her. Only Manolo, the general, and several other assorted men stood around the gave. That was when Posada decided to engage in 'friendly' conversation._

_"Joaquin would not have lasted long under Chakal, and the Bandit king will return." Posada said gravely, "You are very good in the ring. With a little training you could be twice the man Joaquin ever was." He flashed him a small smile._

_Manolo was stuck speechless with disgust. This man had raised Joaquin like a son, trained him rigorously, pushed him to be the soldier everyone wanted. He made Joaquin train at all hours of the day, and neglected Joaquins feelings. It was with a deep thrum of horror that Manolo realized Posada didn't really care about Joaquin. He had made Joaquin into his perfect tool, and as soon as he lost him he looked for a new one. Joaquin was just some dingy old sword to be traded in for a new one. Manolo shook his head, no words able to formulate his feelings, and walked away from the General and the empty grave._

He put a bowl in front of her and she sighed, pushing the oatmeal away. "Why aren't we doing anything?" She demanded with a quite ferocity he had grown to love.

He sat down across from her, "You know why." Every lead they've ever gotten has been a bust. Chakals headquarters were hidden better than most, and most Bandidos they had run into had been loyal as dogs and committed suicide before they could be interrogated. Manolo wasn't even sure if finding Chakal was going to do anything. The townspeople were right. Chakal was known for his brutality. It had been _three years_.

Maria sighed, rubbing at her temples. "We have to look harder."

Taking slow bites of his own oatmeal, he nodded his head. "You need to eat." He smiled softly at her, "I know this is hard, but starving yourself is gonna do the opposite of help."

"Oh Manolo..." She smiles a little, before pulling the bowl towards herself and picking up a spoon.

* * *

They're halfway through their food when something changes. The air seems to flow more freely, the tension across mexico seems to relax, and even Manolo feels the muscles in his back relax. Maria's face is a careful mix of shock and fear.

She looks up at him and sees, by the look on his face, that he felt it too.

Her hands drop the spoon as she reflexively reaches up to rub at her arm. "What was that?" She asks.

"I don't know." Manolo confesses, "But I think..." He takes a deep breath of smooth air, "I think it was for the best."

They sit there for a long moment and breathe deeply. Maria smiles and Manolo and he eyes crinkle at the edges, "We're gonna find him, Manolo. We have to believe this! We're going to find him." Her voice is filled with such passion and conviction, a sharp contrast to her previous tone, that Manolo allows the sweet embrace of hope to wrap itself around his shoulders. He stands from his chair suddenly and it clatters to the floor.

His food long forgotten he slides over and picks up his guitar, "I'm going to go send out a message to the nearby towns and see if they've heard anything."

She stands up as well, a real smile crossing her face."I'm coming with you." He hols his hand out for the second time that day, and she takes it again- except this time she's much more enthusiastic.

In the dark corners of his mind, Manolo wonders what would happen to them if Joaquin really was dead. This new found hope had risen him high above the cloud, but you know what they say...

The higher you are the harder you fall.

He chances a glance at Maria and his heart twists inside his chest. Joaquin had to be alive. He just had to.

* * *

**beep beep short chapter**

**I do not own the book of life!**


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